


Reflections, Echoes, Distortions

by Yatzuaka



Series: LTD [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Paranoia, The swears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzuaka/pseuds/Yatzuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Matt have met a couple of times at Josie's. They definitely know better than to sleep together, but good intentions only go so far. Especially when things start to get... complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is it Ever Going to Be Enough? (more & more & more)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [chapter 39](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6087745/chapters/15434443) in my other fic Lunchtime Drabbles, but it's not strictly necessary to read that if you're just here for the humping.

There were places inside of himself that he would never examine. There were feelings he simply couldn't acknowledge. Natasha wasn't someone he actually knew, per se, but he was fairly certain she'd figured out that he dressed up in a mask after dark to beat on bad guys, and when she found him tonight, all she'd done was follow him from a safe distance, and once, clotheslined a mugger's escaping cohort.

He didn't feel like he had to hide it from her. Perhaps that was because she had feelings she couldn't face either.

Perhaps if he'd been in a different place, he'd be ready for her, for her trouble. He didn't need to see to know danger followed her everywhere like a little boy lost.  

He was icing down his knee - not because it really hurt, but because he knew it should have and it didn't. 

His scrubbed his fingertips on his flannel pyjama pants, drying them off before he started reading. Matt wondered absently as he started skimming, how the heck had he spotted Natasha's and even Jane's weirdness, but not Darcy's. He'd not been so surprised by a revelation in a very long time. At least she'd been thorough and thoughtful enough to include copies of her research in Braille for him, and Karen had added to that considerably in just a few short hours. Foggy had drafted a couple of versions of various writs and notices of intent. Darcy presented a compelling and challenging case.

Even if she hadn't been able to produce the actual client.

The air stirred, a breeze, a current, and he straightened the paperwork, stacked them back into the file folder, closed it neatly, just in case. He stretched for a sweaty bottle of beer on his scuffed coffee table, and was relieved when his knee complained at the motion. 

She moved like a shadow, but he smelled her all the same. He could nearly picture her as she skirted the edges of his living room.

"There's more beer in the fridge, if you want, Natasha," Matt said, flashing his alter-boy smile. 

He wasn't above using any weapon in his arsenal, and Lord knew he'd gotten out of more scrapes using it than he ever had with his fists.

"I don't like Miller, but thanks for the offer."

If she was surprised that he'd known she was there, he couldn't tell by her voice. "So, Darcy tells me that she's hired you." A statement and intonation which fit in the mental image he had of her: Unflappable, permanently nonchalant, hyper-competent, far tougher than she projected.

The nearly inaudible whisper of her footsteps, the metronomic thump of her pulse and the swell of her warmth, all warned him before the couch dipped when she sat next to him.

Matt shrugged, neither confirming or denying. He'd wait till he had a firmer grasp on the purpose of this little visit.

* * *

At some point he was going to have to go to bed, but it wasn't going to be for a while yet.

Natasha was remarkably charming when she wanted to be, and, Matt suspected, could manipulate just about any situation with her wit and her opponents carefully cultivated perception of her.

It was fun trying to keep one step ahead of her when she hadn't even really been trying, but she'd brought out the big guns and was trying to seduce him now. Granted, Natasha was using an odd, intellectual lure, challenging his views on justice and judgment. And he was honestly falling for it hook, line and sinker. It wasn't _fun_ anymore - it was exhilarating.

When had he last verbally sparred with a woman who wasn't a prosecutor or a judge? Well, there was Karen, but she was definitely another case of bad timing, and he couldn't begin to contemplate that situation currently. It wasn't fair to anyone involved.

He had just made a particularly compelling argument against capitalism when her hand snagged on his hair and she leaned close. He didn't breathe while she slowly, God, so very slowly pressed her lips to his.

Somehow Matt hadn't imagined her so soft, so welcoming.

Natasha crawled into his lap, never losing contact with his mouth. He didn't know what to do with his hands so he let them stay by his side while he tried really hard not tear holes in his garage sale couch with his clenching fingers. 

She smiled, her lips going taut against his, "You can touch me, you know."

Matt didn't need to be told twice. He brushed her hood down, found an elastic tie at the back of her head, and gently eased it free. She sighed softly as he let his fingertips run through her hair. It felt slick and soft and he reveled in the smell of it.

"Are you _smelling_ me?" Natasha asked, humor evident in her voice.

Matt brushed his nose along her throat and she shivered a bit before arching away and presenting her chest. He let her, even though he really wanted to spend a lot longer mapping what spots along that fragrant line made her squirm and gasp.

"Yeah, I'm smelling you. Did you know olfactory stimulation, unlike visual or even auditory sensations, can continue even after the stimulus is terminated. It can linger." He cupped the back of her head, and she let him bring her forward. "I want yours to linger for a very long time."

She kissed him again, and allowed him to brush his fingertips against the sides of her face while their mouths were otherwise occupied. "Do you mind?" he asked some time later, referring to the zipper on her sweatshirt by flicking the tab at the top.

"Aren't you just the perfect gentleman?" Natasha said, a hint of disbelief in her snarky response.

"Not really, just - careful when it matters."

She froze. It was only for a second, but he could have sworn he felt her cold shock at his words, even if he didn't know what he'd said that could have come across as so disconcerting as to elicit a reaction like that. However momentary it was, and however much she tried to mask that she'd reacted at all by getting off of him and, after slowing unzipping her hoodie, tossing it across his face.

Her laugh was almost real, almost free of menace, "My. Aren't you sweet, Mr Murdock?"

He was trying to get out from under the shirt, when he heard the thump of what could only be her shoe hitting the floor. "Are you coming?" he heard her ask through the fabric he still hadn't quite managed to get out from under.

The way she said it set his heart pounding. With a final desperate attempt, the sweatshirt finally came off with a loud ripping sound, and he hopped up after her with a yelp as his knee shifted painfully. Matt didn't mind the pain at all as he followed her to his bedroom, dodging her other shoe when it came flying at his face. He still tripped over something he was too preoccupied to notice.

Natasha was on him the second he came through the door, a barreling force of nature that took him off his feet and laid him flat out on the ground. She was straddling his hips when she pinned his arms over his head by his wrists. "I thought for sure that wouldn't have been so easy," Nat whispered in his ear, making him shudder at the feel of her breath against the sensitive shell. 

She kissed him again, and ground down into him when she felt him grow against her under his flimsy sleep pants. Going on instinct, he twisted his hands and rolled his wrists, breaking her grip there. He felt her grin through their kiss as he bucked against her and maneuvered so he reversed their positions, so he was above her, cradled between her strong thighs. He broke their kiss to nuzzle her neck again, but only briefly before he allowed himself to drift down towards her bare breasts. 

Her skin was silk and heat, scent and taste. He enjoyed exploring the softness and give, attempted to take his time, but Natasha wasn't in the mood to be patient. She gripped his shoulders and pushed him down to the part of her he hadn't even considered touching yet. Her arousal was all-encompassing this close, so close he could taste it in the air. Maybe he moaned a little, but he figured that was OK, considering how Natasha was trying not to tremble.

"Sorry, you were taking forever to get there." She sounded not at all repentant, just eager, and who was he to deny this demand when it was all he really wanted to do, anyway.

He explored the inside of her thighs with lips and tongue first, thoroughly, because he wanted to torment her a little. He was rewarded with her hands clawing in his scalp while she whined. She almost tore his hair out by the roots when he finally let his lips settle on her plump, slick labia, and he didn't mind at all. He licked and nuzzled her clit until he felt it swelling and she was gasping above him.

He spent what felt like an eternity and no time at all getting to know her reactions to his actions - what she did when he nipped and what she sounded like when he licked inside her. She writhed and undulated under his ministrations, and he rubbed against the rough fibers of the rug over his dusty wood floors, trying to find the right kind of friction to relieve the overwhelming need to sink into her. 

For now, he supposed he could make do with something that wouldn't require him to change position. Matt pressed his index finger to her dripping entrance she went rigid for the space of three heartbeats. He felt a flutter around his finger and then she exhaled and her whole body relaxed and went soft. 

"Hmm," she purred as he laid his head on her thigh while he caught his breath. "I needed that. Thanks." She ruffled his hair a little and stretched sinuously. "Now let's see what I can do for you."

Natasha twisted out from under him, and grabbed his hand, helping him into his feet before she pushed him into his bed. As he bounced off the mattress a little, the bed complained and he felt quite lucky that he'd remembered to change his sheets in the last week. She snagged the fabric at his ankles and tugged until his pants slid off, and he could feel his cock bob as it sprang free from its confines.

He could feel her stare, hear the way her tongue swiped across her lips. The bed frame squealed a bit when she added her weight, and she huffed a sound like a laugh. Her nails scratched against the skin and through the hair on his thighs. He shivered as she made her way up, torturously slowly, and let himself be surprised by her hot mouth sucking him in, her hands caressing the heavy weight of his balls.

Trying desperately to control himself, he forced his hands into the sheets, gripping with all his might. She used her tongue, tracing patterns and suckling with what could only be determination. It was impossible to keep from bucking into her mouth, to stop the grunts and groans. Just before he lost himself completely, she let go, and it was all he could do not to howl at the unfairness of it.

He was beyond grateful when she took pity on him, and slid up his body, her breasts rubbing across his abdomen, making his skin twitch and muscles jump. Her left hand braced against his pec while she reached for something on the table next to the bed. He heard the familiar crinkling and was glad someone was still keeping their head. It took no time at all for her to sheathe him and to steer his cock so she slid down smoothly, in one long stroke. 

The sensations were breathtaking - the heat, the feel of her like a fist around him. He wanted to do stuff, he wanted to be the most fantastic lover that ever was, but he couldn't quite get it together enough to do much more than thrust up with his hips while he grabbed on to hers. She, on other hand, managed to move her body like magic on top of him. It was astonishingly beautiful, creating pleasure like he'd only ever approached with ( _her_ ), and with that errant thought it became terrible at the same time. He was so close to coming, he could have wept for the exquisite pain of it.

"Don't you dare," Natasha hissed in his ear, making him shudder and grind his teeth together.

"I don't know if I can stop it," he gritted out, trying desperately to obey her demand. 

"Oh, I have every faith you can do almost anything you set your mind to," she said with a roll of her hips. "And I'm pretty sure that you don't want to disappoint me."

He didn't want to do that at all.

The mind was more than willing, but the flesh was ever so weak. "Please, I can't," humiliating, but true.

He felt the tremors inside her, and caught himself before he prayed for more of her pity. Natasha tensed up, her hips' rhythm stuttering as she made a breathy moan, "Now, Matt. Now."

The only other times he'd seen stars like this he'd ended up with a concussion. 

* * *

He wasn't exactly shocked that his file was spread out, but ever so neatly arranged on his living room floor. 

As he got down on his knees to sweep them all up, he still couldn't make himself regret the encounter. He'd never experienced anything like the night he'd just had with Natasha.

When he tripped over her panties walking into his bedroom for another hour's worth of sleep, he laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally fudged everything about the law stuff. Didn't have time to research and, well... I wanted to get on with the smut.
> 
> Title taken from Metric's awesome song [Gold, Guns, Girls](https://youtu.be/FRtd8ArvH_s), but the song doesn't have anything to do with the fic.


	2. Here They Come, Out of the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from [Dangerous by Big Data](https://youtu.be/E8b4xYbEugo). The original mix is good, but the [CHAPPO remix](https://youtu.be/6WMqJ4m0XRM) is great.
> 
> Changed the title due to plot creeping in.

Natasha remembers the many times she'd been told that once could be a coincidence, a matter of happenstance, a _mistake_ , but not twice. It had been drilled into her like the _plie,_   _glissade_ , _assemble_ , _jete_ , _soubresaut_ , _changement_ , _temps leve_ , the _sissonne_ 's _fermee_ and _ouvert_ , and _emboite_.

It had all started with dance, with ballet.  _Nezakonnorozhdennyy_ , people had whispered behind their hands when they'd passed her on the street. Natalya was her name, though, mamochka's precious and clever little Christmas child. Soon people said _, Look how straight and graceful her lines are. Maybe she'll succeed where her mother didn't.._. She'd shouldered the expectations with childish confidence.

At least, that's what she'd done until the fire.

The relief at being found, at escaping the smoke and pain, the bone-deep fear, was almost enough to make her forget that someone had once believed that she was important. In the end, it was her lines after all.

The soldier who'd saved her, the man who'd saved her, who'd promised to stay, had given her away. She'd turned away from that hurt quickly, throwing herself into the poses and masks and movements of the opportunity he had given her. It was a gift, she'd been constantly assured. And besides, she didn't have a home anymore. What did it matter if everything else that was familiar was far away, too?

Sometimes she still longed for the peace found at the barre in front of a mirror, her reflection what she made it, her toes bleeding from being en pointe for hours, days, unending weeks. Things had been so simple then. Positions to glide through, again and again, until they were all that was left of her. _Chin up, Natalya_.

The really hard part, she'd been surprised to learn, came later.

The way he moved might have been the first thing she noticed about him. There was more acrobat in him than dancer, but he had certainly had the grace and strength for either. Not that it mattered, she'd done her time with tumbling, gymnastic acrobatics, as well. Both were back breaking, both tested limits of human endurance while hiding the effort with a pleasant mask. _Smile, Natalya_.

She'd found herself wondering what secrets he kept behind his smile on more than one occasion.

It was hard to believe he was blind, especially when he ran full tilt across a rooftop, dodging obstacles, to vault perfectly to the next building. She was going to have to put a little more effort into keeping up with him. Thighs pumping faster, then knees bending and launching herself like a spring across the open space, 2.5 meters approximately. She rolled across the opposite roof, landing against a chimney awkwardly. No way he hadn't heard that. 

She leaned over, peered around the corner, and saw him standing there, turned towards her, a small grin on his face. He lifted a hand briefly, touching his forehead in an old-timey hat-tipping gesture, and then took off at a sprint. Natasha jumped to her feet, a tight smile spreading across her face. After the night she'd had, babysitting a pair of assholes on a field trip, she couldn't resist a good challenge and was after him in an instant.

Matt seemed to be headed in the general direction of his apartment anyway, and it turned out that _they_ were right.

The second time was absolutely deliberate.

* * *

Matt Murdock already taken off his mask, and poured two glasses of water when Natasha angled her way through his open living room window. She didn't care that she was dripping dirty roof water onto his floor in the slightest. It appeared he didn't particularly care, either, since he just stood there calmly drinking while she glared and dribbled.

"That was a filthy trick," Natasha stated flatly, a bit of her peevishness leaking out with the act of wringing out her ponytail, flicking the runoff in all directions.

"In my defense, I thought you could dodge it," Matt said as he opened a cabinet by feel and withdrew a towel he threw, unerringly, in her direction. She snatched it out of the air before it flopped in her face. "If you feel like a shower, you're welcome to grab one while I make some food. I don't know about you, but I could eat a cow right about now."

Natasha considered the situation briefly, and made up her mind without torturing herself too much. "It's through your bedroom, right?" she asked, even though she knew very well exactly where it was.

Matt nodded, gaze fixed blindly near her, and it almost, disconcertingly, mimicked eye contact. "There's more towels stacked up under the sink. Do me a favor and dump that one in the hamper, please."

She swanned past him without a word, grabbing the second glass on the counter on her way.

Natasha drank the water in one long gulp, and left it to leave a ring of condensation on his dresser. His bedroom looked the same as she remembered it. Hamper open and vomiting dirty clothes onto the floor. Bargain-basement sheets a messy nest on the plain bed. She felt her lips curve up into a grin as she tossed the now wet and grimy towel on top of the small rug next to the side of his bed. Her clothes, she wrung out in the shower and hung on the empty towel rack. The water pressure and fancy showerhead was a lovely surprise she hadn't anticipated and enjoyed until the hot water ran cold.

His soaps were utilitarian; a waxy sliver of green Zest and a half-empty bottle of Head'n'Shoulders shampoo. She washed carefully with both, hair nearly squeaking after she'd rinsed it out. She sighed at the lack of a good conditioner, before she got out and toweled off. Her clothes had mysteriously disappeared, and she let herself feel the slightest bit annoyed by Matt's high-handedness. 

There was a cotton robe - clearly well-worn, but clean and soft - laid out on the newly made bed. The wet towel he'd thorn at her earlier had been stuffed out of view into the hamper, along with the heap of clothes. Natasha was actually kind of impressed he'd managed to shove it all in there. Unless he'd kicked everything under the bed... A quick check confirmed that suspicion. This may or may not have made her giggle, a bit, as she belted the robe on.

With no sign of a brush or comb, not that she wanted to drag either through the tangled rats nest her hair had become, she left her hair in wrapped up in the towel and wandered back into the living room.

Away from the pungent, sharp scents of her steamy wash, she could smell food. Natasha's stomach growled lustily, and she heard Matt chuckle softly from his spot facing away from her on the couch. He lifted a steaming plate up, "You might as well sit down and have some. It'll be at least an hour and change before your clothes are clean and dry."

Lingering by the counter bisecting the kitchen from the living room wasn't much an option, especially when she saw the frosty bottle of Kubanskaya vodka and two small glasses waiting on the coffee table. Besides, she was already here and eating ( _drinking_ ) couldn't possibly compromise her any more than she already was.

The red suit was gone, replaced by hideous neon plaid sleep pants that must've been someone's idea of a joke. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and since he was blind, Natasha didn't have to be sneaky about ogling him.

The couch was as comfortable as she remembered, and she let herself sink into the cushions, muscles relaxing. He pressed a cold glass into her hand, and she drank it down gratefully. Sticking her hand out, she tapped the side of the glass with her fingernail, "Another, please."

Matt obliged with startling dexterity. Not that she was testing him, or anything.

Her second shot smoothed out the rough edges nicely, though, so she set to eating. It was a shockingly tasty stir fry, mostly veggies and tofu, with bits of egg and strips of chicken to bump up the protein, probably. Natasha moaned, defenses lowered a little by how ravenous she'd apparently been. She refused to even consider the vodka. 

"Was hungry, thank you," she said around her second or third huge mouthful of food. 

"My pleasure, I assure you," he said, smiling hugely at her, before returning his attention to the food.

"I didn't realize you could cook," Natasha said, mostly because the quiet clink of forks on plates was odd to her now. Dinner with any of the other people in the Tower was always a noisy affair.

"I kind of had to if I wanted to eat even slightly healthy. Don't make quite enough money to eat out every night."

When was the last time she'd been broke? When was the last time she'd been unable to afford what she wanted, if she wasn't just going to _appropriate_ it? Still, she made a sound of agreement, because it seemed like the thing to do. 

Matt lifted his face again, and she could have sworn he _looked_ at her, "What about you? Do you cook?"

Natasha grinned, thinking of the culinary disasters she'd been responsible for, but instead mentioned the one thing she could put together with some degree of competence, "I can make borscht." 

"Borsht, huh? There's a tiny Russian place down on..." as Matt went on and on, Natasha felt a little lost.

This was the part that she was supposed to be good at. Talking, making people let their guard down, steering the conversation into useful areas. Except she didn't want to know about anything else to do with Loki's drama and she didn't particularly care that Matt dressed up and beat on bad guys for fun and recreation. So she ate (shoveled) the food (into her mouth) without really attempting to do the speaking thing unless a response was strictly required. It felt nice, like less of a performance and more actual normal life. 

Her fork squealed against the ceramic plate as she attempted to scoop up the last few noodles, and Matt asked if she wanted more. She accepted a second helping, and tore into it in a slightly more civilized manner this time around. She poured herself another vodka after she'd finished the food, sipping this time around rather than simply throwing it back.

"You want to talk about it?" Matt asked, while he slowly, deliberately, no doubt making sure she knew where his hands were, what he was doing, reached out and ran his fingers down her legs.

When he reached her ankles, he circled his fingers around them, lifted her legs up and arranged her so she stretched across the couch with her feet on his lap. His thumb dug into the arch of her left foot while he cradled the appendage in his hands gently. For the second time, she moaned. 

She didn't see a point in hiding her reaction, not right then. He could probably feel the way her pulse was thundering. He continued the delicious assault on her foot and she almost forgot he'd said something to begin with. "Oh, you know... It was just a _really_ long day."

"Did you come straight from the library field trip with Loki?" Matt's voice was quiet. Her muscles tensed up instantly. "I'm his lawyer. I'm also your friend. I can keep those two separate. If you want to talk, I'll keep it to myself," he said, calm and cool, still massaging her foot. Still making her arch against the glorious sensations. 

"Yeah," she said, almost sorry that she'd have to decline. "That's nice," the flat affect of her voice effectively ending that line of questioning.

The silence between them grew pretty deafening after that. So much so, that when he let go of her foot, she almost worried that she'd offended him somehow, and she'd fucked herself out of a good foot massage. But all he did was switch to the other foot.

"I know you're probably thinking that I've got to be after something, and that's fair enough. I am. I want to spend time with you, get to know you. I told you, I'm your friend, or I hope that you'll consider me as one soon. In the meantime, forget I said anything about your work, and try to relax for a bit. I'm going to, you know, shut up now," he said, and favored her with an altogether too charming smile. Coupled with what he was doing to her feet, well. 

Natasha was... content, she decided, rolling the emotion around like a marble in her hand, testing its shape. She was full. She was pleasantly warm and clean. She had troubles lurking on the horizon, but they were so far off and so diffuse she couldn't quite make herself really, truly care. She breathed out slowly and let her eyes slip shut, rationalizing that it was just for a second, just a minute. She'd get up and make Matt bring her her clothes whether or not they were dry, and she would leave.

In just a second.

A minute.

* * *

She woke up because someone had turned on the lights. ( _Dear God, why was it so bright?_ ) 

( _Oh, right._ )

The sun curled evil fingers in Matt's living room, which was entirely without curtains. His blinds were dusty and jumbled and probably hadn't been functional in years. Natasha could have groaned at the unfairness of it all, but she didn't. She kicked the blanket off and stretched, fingers and toes wiggling.

"You're up," Matt said from behind her, from his kitchen. "Good morning."

The smell of coffee wafted over and Natasha sat up, peering over the back of the couch. He was wearing an old white t-shirt worn thin from use and wash and a tight pair of grey boxer briefs. His feet were bare, and his hair still wet, so freshly combed there were still tracks in it. "How do you take your coffee?" Matt asked as he poured a second mug.

Natasha was still in the robe, and the towel she'd wrapped around her hair was draped across the pillow she'd slept on. ( _Her hair!_ ) She was good at falling asleep anywhere she needed, to keep sharp, but she didn't generally feel so refreshed afterward. "Black is fine," she answered belatedly. "Thank you," she added, remembering her manners.

Matt brought over the mug and sat where her feet had been after she'd pulled her knees up to her chest. Their fingers brushed together as he handed over the mug, and she wondered if he could tell how that simple contact had made her flush momentarily. Probably, if the way he smiled at her before sipping his own coffee was any indication.

"What's it like?" slipped out, before she could consider how excessively rude that blurted question undoubtedly was. Besides which, that wasn't even what she wanted to ask; _How do you do it? How do you work? How are you put together?_ "Never mind," she said, setting the mug down and darting off to Matt's bathroom.

After she'd flushed the toilet, while she was washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked the same, but there was clearly something wrong with her. Swishing out the horrible taste in her mouth with off-brand mouthwash, Natasha focused inward, calming down by sheer force of will. Putting it out of her mind, she determined that she would not be undone by this _anomaly_. She was fine, she was great. 

Her steps were measured and deliberate, slower than they were when she'd come this way. Her pulse was rather the same, beating at steady, entirely regular, evenly slow intervals.

Natasha sat again, but didn't put her feet up, didn't pick the mug up, "Where are my clothes? I should get going."

He hmm'd a bit as he swallowed, which turned into, "Uhm, OK. Yeah, of course." Matt set down his cup, "They're on the chair next to the door." He pointed behind him. "I had a great time with you last night," voice soft and mellow, like he was trying not to spook her.

Shaking her head a bit, ( _Warning : Tremendous mistake ahead!_) she scooted forward. Leaned over enough to stop him from saying whatever it was he was opening his mouth to voice, and kissed him. She'd wanted to all last night, basically, and maybe giving in a little would restore her natural equilibrium, instead of having to force it to calm. 

It wasn't a particularly well thought out plan in any event. 

Matt gripped the back of her neck, thumb circling around to rest on her carotid artery, pressing closer with every movement of his lips. His hand anchored her, but she didn't mind that it was to him. Natasha ran her hands through his hair, wrecking the job he'd done with a comb at some point before she woke.

His other hand snuck up out of nowhere, burrowed under the robe and gently, ran callused fingers across her breast. She thought she felt a question in the hesitancy of his touch. Natasha appreciated that, but it didn't suit her mood, now that she'd made up her mind. She let her hands drop, to pull on his t-shirt. They had to stop kissing and he had to stop touching her under the robe to get it off, but it was so worth it. He had deep bruises on the ribs on his left side, and variety of cuts and scars that were in various states of healing. It amazed her how little he showed of his physical discomfort.

She barely noticed when he brushed the robe off her shoulders. His eyes were closed as he touched her, but Natasha knew that she was the center of his attention. They kissed again, bodies colliding, each trying to tug and push the other into the optimal position, but arriving at a satisfactory stalemate when she found herself straddling him. He gasped into her mouth - "Aah! Careful with my left," - when she shifted and her knee connected with his side. 

"Oops, sorry."

"Really?" he grinned and nipped her neck.

"No."

"Thought so," he licked up her ear, and she shivered.

Sliding a hand between them, Natasha reached down until she could stroke eager fingers arcoss his cock. He was so hot and hard through the fine knit of his tight underwear. "Get these off," she told him urgently. 

He smirked as he lifted his hips, grinding against her briefly before he shuffled around bit and kicked off the offending garment. Matt rubbed the swollen head across her slick labia, and she almost, very nearly, forgot herself. Matt pushed her back at almost the same time as she had her epiphany, and their foreheads pressed together as they said "Condom" in unison. 

"Bedroom?" Natasha guessed.

"Yup. Hang on," he lifted her effortlessly as he stood, slung her across his shoulder and carried her to his bedroom.

He dropped her on the bed without finesse - she bounced on the mattress - before rummaging around in his nightstand. "I should probably start keeping some in the living room," he muttered, more to himself, she thought, than to her. 

His back was to her, the muscles bunching and stretching attractively under the mottled and marked skin. She reached out, let her nails scratch lightly a short distance down his spine while he covered himself efficiently. He shuddered a bit at the contact, and she found his reaction quite satisfying. It didn't take long before Matt turned around and draped her body with his. He lifted one of her legs by her knee, spreading her wide before fitting himself between her thighs and rolling his hips to brush her clit with the length of his cock. 

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck as he drew back and entered her, shivering and inhaling deeply. Natasha couldn't hold back a groan at the thickness stretching her, couldn't stop the way her nails clawed his back as she clung to him. 

It didn't last long for either of them, which went against every grain of her pride, but also made her feel more human and normal than she had in a long time. She really could let go - feel stuff and be in the moment - on occasion.

He rolled off of her after kissing her soundly, "I can, generally speaking, last a bit longer than that."

Natasha kind of snorted, amused that his thoughts echoed her own, "Me, too."

Matt's smile as he leaned close was full of self-deprication. He kissed her again, then got up to, presumably, dispose of the condom.

Her heart was thundering.

It shouldn't have been. She'd barely exerted herself.

Natasha laid there for a few moments before she hopped up and dashed to the bathroom and his wonderful shower. The water had just warmed enough, and she'd stepped inside when she heard him shuffling around the bedroom. 

She'd finished washing and was rinsing off when he knocked once on the door and opened it slightly. "I moved your clothes to the bed. Uh, if you want to eat, we'll have to out for breakfast. I cleaned everything out of the fridge to make dinner last night."

Natasha twitched the shower curtain, an ugly beige rectangle of thick plastic, aside and gave him a look she meant to convey her disbelief, but of course he couldn't see it. "Are you trying to ask if I want to have breakfast with you?"

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, naked and not seeming to realize that he had no window coverings at all in the kitchen living room area. Or didn't care. He stepped confidently over the crumpled rug, kicked a stray sock out of the way and was kissing her deeply. He stroked a finger down her face as he pulled away. "I'm being a little greedy, sue me." He laughed, like he'd made a joke, and she suddenly had serious doubts about his sense of humor. "If you hurry, we can catch a fresh batch of donuts at this bakery I know that's pretty close to your... office? Apartment? What do you call it?"

"Home," Natasha said, caught off guard by his... everything. The way their fingers had tangled together, the way he grinned at her, unrepentant at showing her how much he wanted her. His extremely bad jokes. _Super duper hot,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Darcy piped up from the back of her mind. "Wait, you're talking about that place on..." she named a pair of streets, an intersection, a little incredulous that he would know it. Then she realized what she'd said before that. _Home_. 

"Fine, yeah. I'm done. Hand me that towel," she said, interrupting Matt's enthusiastic response. 

"I can't believe you go to my favorite donut place in Manhattan," he said as she rubbed herself dry.

"Me neither," she said, distractedly.

Natasha was subdued as she mulled over the events of the last seven hours. She dressed and tied back her hair without much conscious thought. They shared a cab back to Manhattan, while Natasha wondered what the fuck she was doing, and how he knew about her favorite place for donuts. Coincidences made her deeply uncomfortable. The memory of Sam's paranoia last night came roaring back. 

 _It couldn't have been him? Could it?_ she asked herself as he held the door to the bakery open for her. 

No, she'd have known. She was almost sure. But she was less and less certain that there was no one. Which begged the question who it was and what their goal was. She'd have to be more vigilant, she couldn't afford to be sloppy with this, especially considering what and who she was ultimately protecting.

Smiling back at him, because she couldn't afford to tip off anyone watching, as he handed over her parchment paper covered warm donut, she did something she made a point of not doing. She hoped. 

They were standing in the street, lingering in each other's company for a few more minutes, when Nat noticed a glob of chocolate smeared across his cheek. When she mentioned it to him, he swiped at it with a napkin. She grinned when she saw that he'd only made it worse. 

She snagged the napkin, and rubbed his face, leaning forward to kiss him when he was clean. "I've got to go, for real this time," she was saying when she heard, "Nat!"

She turned to see Jane waving and weaving her way through the crowd. "And Matt!" Jane practically crowed, her smile edging into nearly manic territory. "It's a good morning, huh?"

"Yeah," Natasha answered, as Matt blushed a little. He made a few quick excuses, and left after telling her that he would call her later. Natasha waved in farewell, though she wasn't exactly sure why.

Jane stood with her, watching as the crowd first parted for, then swallowed the blind man with the cane. Her friend squeezed her elbow briefly, and made her way into the store. Natasha finished her donut while she waited, and quickly threw away her garbage when she noticed the load that Jane was carrying. She held open the door for the physicist and grabbed one of the huge bags she was carrying, stacked with boxes upon boxes of donuts.

They walked more or less in sync, bags hung between them, as they plowed their way through the tide of pedestrians also on their way to work. Most of the security guards posted at the massive doors to the Tower knew better than to make her wait in the line winding tidily behind a maze of ropes. She grabbed a lagging Jane, chiding, "Never wait in line. You are the head of a research department. You've won a Nobel prize. What's wrong with you?"

Jane blushed as Natasha flung her bag and then Jane's on the conveyer belt to be x-rayed before butting into the line at one of the metal detectors. Predictably, her guns and at least four of her knives set them off. The spinning red light was a bit overkill, in Natasha's opinion. She'd have to bring it up to Happy again.

"Don't worry, Bob," she said, after glancing at the wide-eyed guards nametag. She got up on her toes and whispered in his ear, "If you wake up your little tablet there, and type Yellow$t1 into the special access override box, you'll see I'm cleared to just waltz right on through here."

He did, and blanched when the screen blinked green with giant capital letters, "Level 10 Clearance."

"It's OK, Bob," Natasha said, as she stacked the long flat boxes of donuts back into the giant bags after they'd been examined. "Come along, Jane."

Natasha surreptitiously monitored the crowd passing by outside, checking for any familiar faces as they waited the few moments to clear the secondary doors. Jane handed Bob one of the boxes from her bag, "Here, take this, share it with your coworkers. Thanks for everything. Have a great morning, you hear?"

"You're too nice," Natasha grumbled after they'd made their way across the enormous lobby, while they waited for the elevator.

Jane smiled as the doors opened, "Sometimes life is good, you know?" They were alone in the elevator when the doors slid shut behind them and they were whisked upwards at speeds that were just short of disorienting. Natasha was gearing up to start a likely futile investigation into what was probably nothing, thinking back to everything she'd done the last few day when Jane interrupted her train of thought. 

"You really like him, huh?"

Natasha blinked at her.

"I haven't seen you smile like that around, well, anyone. It's OK, don't freak. We're friends. I'll keep it to myself," Jane said solemnly. 

Strange how many friends Natasha seemed to have lately. She wasn't entirely convinced it was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been tinkering with this chapter instead of keeping up with LTD. I'm going to be posting at least 2 chapters over there this week, but I wanted to get this done first. Hope you like it! 
> 
> Onwards to other notes.
> 
> Sorry about the lack of accents on the e's in the dancing terms, they're a giant pain in my ass on the kindle, and I just kinda gave up on them. 
> 
> A bit about the origins of the name Natasha, just for clarity... My oracle, Google, tells me that it's the diminutive of the Russian name Natalya, which at its roots means something like Christmas child.
> 
>  _Nezakonnorozhdennyy_ (незаконнорожденный) translates to illegitimate, fatherless. Russian has lots of versions of 'bastard', and this was the closest translation I could come up with to someone born out of "wedlock".
> 
>  _Mamochka_ (мамочка) is mommy.
> 
> My headcanon is that Nat's mom wanted to be/was a dancer, got pregnant by accident, couldn't/wasn't allowed to dance anymore and wanted Nat to dance in her stead. I've no idea if MCU is going to follow her comic canon, i.e. that "she was born in 1928 and was found in an orphanage by a soldier who took her in, and that after the loss of her husband, she rushed into the red room" backstory, but I'm kind of not. Honestly, I'm mostly just going to fanwank her whole background, cherrypicking bits and pieces. Holy AU, Batman.


End file.
